


pale skin so cold to the touch

by mysafeplaceishere



Series: magenta eyes [4]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Minor Violence, Panic Attacks, Reader is very challenged, Romance, he lied. blood does bother him, she needs a hug and some reassurance, zim is a bug but tries his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere
Summary: “I wish to grab you some new clothes for the night,” Zim pulls away with a chirp, “The Almighty Zim will be right back. Do not go anywhere, and try to dry away your smoopiness. I don’t like seeing you upset.”You let him free of your tight embrace so he can slip off the couch. You watch his tiny form slip into one of the back rooms in his signature hands behind his back and head held high. You finally, for the first time tonight, let a real smile take over your face.As demanding as always.
Relationships: Zim (Invader Zim)/Reader
Series: magenta eyes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790968
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	pale skin so cold to the touch

You stare into the mirror with teary eyes. The reflection staring back at you shares the same expression, but the more you look at it, the more the face melts into someone that isn’t you. A distorted smile stretches uncomfortably across the face—almost ripping where the lips taper off into cheek. It hunches over the desk you’re sitting at with noises that sound like bones snapping in and out of place. 

You can’t breath while it lowers its head with deep, chest rumbling laughter in the tone of your voice. It makes your palms clammy with panic. The bloodshot eyes peek through the strands of parted hair to gaze upon you with what could be called distain. Your throat constricts when its lips part. 

_“Worthless,”_ it rasps out. 

You suck in a short breath and clamp your hands on the end of the desk to peer forward. The reflection leans in with you until it feels as if you’re touching noses. It’s gnarly, misshapen hand presses against the glass and you swear you can hear the clicks of his nails drumming against the surface. 

“I’m not worthless,” you croak out, “I do my best everyday. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m telling you what you think, just as I always have. You’re supposed to control me,” it’s smile goes slack, teeth bared into a nasty snarl that sends you reeling back into your chair, “instead I control _you_. Worthless! You can’t even control your emotions.”

You cover your face with your trembling hands and curl into yourself with a whimper. Fresh tears sting at your eyes as it’s words echo through your head over and over.You have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from letting out a gross, hopeless sob. Your skin is cold and wet with perspire and it collects a shiver from your already trembling body. 

“No matter how hard you try, you can’t get rid of me. No matter how hard you work your fingers down to the bone—until they’re raw with exhaustion, it won’t be good enough. You can never be good enough, never be pretty enough, never be enough for _Zim_.”

You clamp your hands over your ears with a sob, eyes squeezed shut so tight the back of your eyelids sparkle with colors of pink and green. A pain erupts through your chest at the mere mention of Zim’s name on the tongue of your doppelgänger. It makes your hands go numb and your blood grow cold. 

“I do what I can to keep him happy,” you murmur through the violent sobs that wrack your chest. 

“And for what? It doesn’t work. None of your help works. He always ends back in a rut, trying to climb himself out with you watching on the sidelines. You like seeing him in pain, don’t you? Does him crying make you happy?” 

“Shut up,” you shake your head, nails biting into your scalp.

It laughs at the way you glance up with blurry vision to glare with as much as as you can muster between sobs. It slaps a bended hand to its forehead and continues to shake with gut wrenching, belly aching laughter that makes your teeth grit together. 

“It’s only a matter of time before he leaves you. Zim doesn’t need you. A few pats on the back isn’t going to heal what’s broken on the inside. You’re failing him and he’ll notice eventually. Give it time.”

Your face twists at the lies. A feeling of uncontrolled anger surges through your fingers and it makes you stand from your chair in a rush, knocking it over from the force. When you glance down at your hands, you notice the ends of your nails are speckled with the blood from your punctured scalp. The sight of red makes the color flash behind your eyes and in a moment of panic, you reel your fist back before swinging it into your grinning reflection. 

A stinging sensation erupts throughout the skin on your knuckles as soon as you make contact with the glass but the adrenaline from fear numbs the pain immediately. The reflection splitters into a thousands pieces and the weight of its eyes on you vanish, giving you a moment to breath and another moment to think. When you pull your hand back, you find that blood has started to bubble up from the broken skin and scattered sharps of glass stuck in the wounds. 

When the realization finally kicks in after a minute of you staring at the mess, you stumble back onto the edge of your bed. The blood from your knuckles stains the sheets when you reach down to grab a fist full of the fabric to anchor yourself. 

You can’t be here. Not in your room this late at night where all you can hear is the whispers of your failures. You see shadows out of the corner of your eyes, waiting for you to let your guard down while you sleep. The tears blurring your vision run down the paths of drying tear streaks on your face when you blink. 

You have to leave. The voices lingering around the edges on your mind will only get louder if you don’t get someone equally as loud to drown them out, and the only person that could do that would be Zim. 

Completely forgetting about your bleeding knuckles, you scramble across the room—avoiding the shattered glass—to grab a pair of shoes and a jacket before bolting out of the front door. It doesn’t register that you have blood all over your night wear or the fact that you forgot to lock your door on the way out. 

The city is always lively, even during the night. You bump into quite a few passerby’s on the way to Zim house and ignore the way their eyes widen when realizing you’re leaving a trail of blood in your wake. Should they have tried to call out and help, you wouldn’t have listened. The sole person you wanted to help wouldn’t be any of them. Not in this disgusting, crime-ridden city. 

When you finally make it to Zim’s base, all lights are off except the ones outside. You bring your hands up to your chest, only smearing more blood across your shirt, as you cross his front lawn to get to the door. You kick the door with your foot a few times. When no one answers after a moment of waiting, you tilt your head back and deeply inhale to keep from crying again. The frustration is eating up every ounce of patience you have left. 

“Would you like me to let you in, Lady (Y/n)?” 

You jump at the sudden voice surrounding the area. It doesn’t take you but a second to realize it is only the computer. 

“Is nobody home?” You ask in but a frail whisper, voice raw. 

The door swings open on its own and you shuffle inside to be met with a dark room with light filtering through the windows. There isn’t a soul stirring from deeper within the house which lets you know that Zim is probably in the underground lab like he is most days. You settle down into the couch, still cradling your bleeding knuckles when the door shuts. 

“Master is in the lab and Gir wanted to get out for a bit. Shall I call him for you?” 

You smile at the robotic tone, already feeling at home more so than you did back at the apartment. The computer has always treated you like a queen compared to the snarky behavior it exhibits towards Zim. 

“I would appreciate it. Could you tell him to bring a first aid kit, too?” You tuck some lose stranded of hair behind your ear. 

There isn’t a response. You lean back into the couch cushions with a wince that strains your entire face. You probably look like a wreck and it would be the first time Zim has seen you so lost—so broken. It didn’t seem fair to dump your problems on him, tell him that you struggle with your image and loving yourself. 

Tonight was the night you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. You could control it with sleep and staying away from silence, but when you’re home alone with no one to share the room with you, your thoughts came back with a bite. It was like splitting open a closing wound and letting the muscle underneath spill out for you to see. 

You slip off your jacket in just enough time before the sound of Zim being hoisted from the lab reaches your ears. The sound of his heeled boots tipping across the floor makes your tense shoulders relax. When he rounds the corner of the kitchen, you can see that his face holds something akin to fear. His tiny gloved hands hold onto a first aid kit that you had requested. You would normally offer him a toothy smile but this time you don’t have the energy pull back your lips. 

It wouldn’t feel right pretending to be happy in front of him when you’re not. It would feel like lying. 

Zim’s eyes do a double take over you and his face falls into panic when seeing the blood and lack of emotion in your eyes. He shouts something inaudible at the ceiling—most likely at the computer—before running over and climbing onto the couch to be beside you. One of his hands immediately thread through the fingers on your hurt hand while his other hand cups your cheek. You lean into his touch as soon as his finger splay across your skin. 

“What on Irk happened?!” He searches you over, antennae sticking straight up. 

You take a moment to stare at his face to bask in the safety of his presence. “I... punched my mirror.”

“You _what_?” He blinks a few times, dumbfounded by your answer. 

You can’t bring yourself to say again and shove your injured hand towards him instead. It takes a bit of effort and mental strain but you manage to get your lips to quirk up just enough for a soft smile. Zim redirects his flabbergasted gaze to your hand and back to your eyes, lips pursed. His antennae lower against his scalp when the smile drops into an expression of exhaustion. 

He can clearly see the trail of dried tears that had been previously running down your face. Asking about it in a way you won’t get upset is easier said than done. 

“Think you could patch me up?” You ask with a gentle, tired hum.

“Think? Zim does not think he can patch you up! I _know_ I can! Now stay still,” he gives you a gentle pat on your wrist to keep you from moving too much. 

The action makes butterflies blossom through your chest. He has always tried to be gentle with you but the way his hand glides over yours to inspect the damage is more than your heart can handle. 

He quickly gets to work on pulling out the glass shards, no matter how small, out of the wounds with a pair of tweezers. The blood that gets on his gloves doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. When he’s positive he got it all, then he proceeds to clean up the areas that were exposed to the most germs and wrap your hand in bandages. 

“Are you going to tell me why you punched your mirror?” He gives you the side eye when cleaning up the mess from the first aid kit. 

You turn your head so you don’t have to look him in the eye. _“No.”_

The silence that comes after makes your skin ripple with unpleasant goosebumps. When you glance back to him, he’s staring at you with an angry, hurt expression that makes your mouth dry. You flinch when he throws the first aid kit off the edge of the couch in what seems to be a fit of anger, or maybe he’s making more room for himself. At this point you know you could be taking everything the wrong way. 

“You can’t just come into my base bleeding on everything and not tell me what happened!” He scolds you, arms crossed across his chest and antennae held tall. 

You run a hand through your hair in a nervous fashion and Zim notices. His displeased gaze never shifts and you start to itch from head to toe from the way his mouth curls into a frown. You open your mouth with intent of giving your best last shot of avoiding the real reason. It’s a lousy reason. 

“I don’t... want to worry you.”

“You think I am not _worried_?! My life partner, my betrothed human hurt herself and won’t tell me why! You expect me to let this go?” 

Your lip trembles to hold back the floodgates but his obvious hurt over your reluctance spills over your head and you break down. Tears fills your eyes and before you know it, you’re sobbing into the open air and trying to hide the pain by shielding your face with your arm. Every time you go to swallow down a sob, you end up choking. 

How pathetic you must look right now. Covered in blood from a wound you gave to yourself, sitting on your boyfriends couch crying because you find yourself repulsing both to society and to yourself. All that hard work of bottling away the things that made you hurt the most ended up being a failure too—just like everything else. 

“I’m not good enough for _anything_ ,” you cry into your arm, “and now I have myself convinced I’m not good enough for you, either.”

You want to touch his face and hold him close but you’re afraid to even look at him, much less touch him. It’s a good thing he decides to do it for you by slowly crawling into your lap. He grabs onto your arm and lowers it from your face to see just how distraught you are up close. His magenta eyes blinks at you, so soft and understanding that it takes your breath away. No words are spoken as he takes the arm you were using to hide your face and puts it around him instead. Then he tucks his head just under your chin with a purr.

“Zim, I have blood all over me,” you clear your throat to get rid of the watery tone.

“I do not care about a bit of blood. Just hush, my love. That is just your _useless parents_ talking, not you,” he answer with a tickle to your face with his antennae.

You sink into the position and let your cheek fall against the top of his head. Your arms circle around his middle and pull him impossibly close, to which he moves his face to the crook of your neck. You aren’t openly sobbing anymore but a few relieved tears escape out of the corner of your eye.

“I wish to grab you some new clothes for the night,” Zim pulls away with a chirp, “The Almighty Zim will be right back. Do not go anywhere, and try to dry away your smoopiness. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

You let him free of your tight embrace so he can slip off the couch. You watch his tiny form slip into one of the back rooms in his signature hands behind his back and head held high. You finally, for the first time tonight, let a real smile take over your face.   
  
As demanding as always. 


End file.
